


Jharokha

by lightningwaltz



Category: Original Work
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate History, Blow Jobs, Drunken Flirting, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Recreational Drug Use, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-15
Updated: 2019-02-15
Packaged: 2019-10-21 22:20:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17650961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lightningwaltz/pseuds/lightningwaltz
Summary: Hi Sath! Thanks for such an excellent prompt. I fell down so many research rabbit holes while writing this.First of all, you said you wanted an emperor that was kind of like Jahangir but notactuallyJahangir. This made me decide to place things in the latter half of the Mughal dynasty when things were at their peak. Since you wanted to read an alternate history emperor (and that's also what I preferred to write), I tried to figure out a place where I could have history diverge. I eventually decided on Nur Jahan (Jahangir's favorite wife) having to marry her daughter Ladli to to Khusrau rather than Shahryar. Basically, what I envision happening here, is that Khurram/Shah Jahan's rebellion ended up wiping out Shahryar and all the other potential heirs, and then Shah Jahan dies of some kind of battle field injury or illness. So then, after all the most likely heirs die off, the emperor is left with Khusrau and Nur Jahan marries her daughter to him. Khusrau had other sons, but for this I also havethembasically dying off and leaving Khusrau with an heir (the emperor in this story) who ends up becoming emperor next. I gave him the name of a later emperor, from the time when the Mughal emperor was less effectual but the emperor of this story is nottheFarrukhsiyar. He's totally a fictional creation. I also feel like each succeeding emperor kind of ends up reacting to the emperor that came before and I can't see Khusrau being a particularly happy or engaged emperor. So this Farrukhsiyar is hugely into parties, but also very interested in governing his empire in innovative ways. (Side note: this all means that this is a world without the Taj Mahal, which is super weird to think about.)England during this time is something I know less about but I had fun learning about it for this assignment. You mentioned wanted the dispossessed nobleman to have an artistic streak. I ended up making him a mapmaker because... well that's partially author appeal (I love maps!) and also because this is during an age of exploration and new technology making said exploration possible. I learned that during the 17th century England was very much not invested in map making (despite working on colonizing the new world) and there was a limited number of occupations considered suitable for a nobleman. So basically this character ended up going further and further east, following the trail of innovation re; map making. I had him wander to Persia because Persians were highly prominent in the Mughal court, and then further on to India. I gave him the name Thomas because 1. Thomas was such a common name, and 2. I had Farrukhsiyar's birth name being Tahmurras and I wanted to include a joke about the similarity of their names but I could never make it fit the flow of the fic. But, yeah, this isn't Thomas Roe. Just yet another Thomas.Woo, okay. Sorry for all that tl;dr. This was just such a fun thing to envision and write. It was fun to come up with all that backstory, but it was also fun just writing two people who've led wildly different lives managing to bond over a love of artistic stuff (and also being in agreement that the other is hot, haha.)Content note: There's a fair amount of drug and alcohol use in the story. Alcoholism was a common affliction of the Mughal dynasty, and drug use was pretty common too. There's also a power difference since one of them is an emperor and the other is a foreigner in his court. Both characters are fully lucid and consenting in this fic, but I thought I should make that disclaimer at the outset.





	Jharokha

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sath](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sath/gifts).



> Hi Sath! Thanks for such an excellent prompt. I fell down so many research rabbit holes while writing this. 
> 
> First of all, you said you wanted an emperor that was kind of like Jahangir but not _actually_ Jahangir. This made me decide to place things in the latter half of the Mughal dynasty when things were at their peak. Since you wanted to read an alternate history emperor (and that's also what I preferred to write), I tried to figure out a place where I could have history diverge. I eventually decided on Nur Jahan (Jahangir's favorite wife) having to marry her daughter Ladli to to Khusrau rather than Shahryar. Basically, what I envision happening here, is that Khurram/Shah Jahan's rebellion ended up wiping out Shahryar and all the other potential heirs, and then Shah Jahan dies of some kind of battle field injury or illness. So then, after all the most likely heirs die off, the emperor is left with Khusrau and Nur Jahan marries her daughter to him. Khusrau had other sons, but for this I also have _them_ basically dying off and leaving Khusrau with an heir (the emperor in this story) who ends up becoming emperor next. I gave him the name of a later emperor, from the time when the Mughal emperor was less effectual but the emperor of this story is not _the_ Farrukhsiyar. He's totally a fictional creation. I also feel like each succeeding emperor kind of ends up reacting to the emperor that came before and I can't see Khusrau being a particularly happy or engaged emperor. So this Farrukhsiyar is hugely into parties, but also very interested in governing his empire in innovative ways. (Side note: this all means that this is a world without the Taj Mahal, which is super weird to think about.)
> 
> England during this time is something I know less about but I had fun learning about it for this assignment. You mentioned wanted the dispossessed nobleman to have an artistic streak. I ended up making him a mapmaker because... well that's partially author appeal (I love maps!) and also because this is during an age of exploration and new technology making said exploration possible. I learned that during the 17th century England was very much not invested in map making (despite working on colonizing the new world) and there was a limited number of occupations considered suitable for a nobleman. So basically this character ended up going further and further east, following the trail of innovation re; map making. I had him wander to Persia because Persians were highly prominent in the Mughal court, and then further on to India. I gave him the name Thomas because 1. Thomas was such a common name, and 2. I had Farrukhsiyar's birth name being Tahmurras and I wanted to include a joke about the similarity of their names but I could never make it fit the flow of the fic. But, yeah, this isn't Thomas Roe. Just yet another Thomas.
> 
> Woo, okay. Sorry for all that tl;dr. This was just such a fun thing to envision and write. It was fun to come up with all that backstory, but it was also fun just writing two people who've led wildly different lives managing to bond over a love of artistic stuff (and also being in agreement that the other is hot, haha.)
> 
> Content note: There's a fair amount of drug and alcohol use in the story. Alcoholism was a common affliction of the Mughal dynasty, and drug use was pretty common too. There's also a power difference since one of them is an emperor and the other is a foreigner in his court. Both characters are fully lucid and consenting in this fic, but I thought I should make that disclaimer at the outset.

Thomas woke up, and immediately regretted it. 

Whenever he was hungover, he found himself much more inclined to pray. This didn’t help matters much; pious thoughts seemed to dissolve into the obdurate rhythm in his brain. Prayers inevitably turned in to frantic attempts to bully his body into submission. He was forced to repeat the same observations over and over.

No, he don’t actually have an ax embedded in your skull. 

Yes, this was probably some kind of divine retribution for how much he drank last night.

Throughout all of this, he kept his eyes shut. When Thomas smelled opium, though, he was forced to acknowledge his present situation. 

“I’m not in my room am I, Shahenshah?” Thomas did his best to make the proper obeisance even though he wanted to remain curled in a fetal position on the floor. His forehead was hot to the touch. “I’m in your quarters.” 

“Indeed.” Some people sounded different when they smiled. Emperor Farrukhsiyar was one such. “I have been blowing smoke circles in your general direction for the better part of an hour, I hope you know.” 

Thomas started to speak and immediately censored himself. He’d been in the company of Farrukhsiyar many times, but never alone in this matter. When the man was relaxed (which was often) Farrukhsiyar had the cadence of Thomas’s most jovial friend from his university days. That, by no means, merited _responding_ to the emperor like he was a university friend.

Memories of the previous evening were starting to trickle in like ink seeping into paper. Last night Thomas’s master- the Persian cartographer Mahmud- had been invited to a celebration of the commission of a new project. Farrukhsiyar’s quarters had been packed with all sorts of men who trickled out, one by one, as the evening waned. Thomas wondered, now, if their little party had consumed a third of the empire’s spirits. Perhaps more. The project had never been discussed. 

Farrukhsiyar gave a tap Thomas a bemused tap on the shoulder. It was a gesture that seemed to be encouraging Thomas to speak, but it was a difficult endeavor. For all the informality of his posture, the emperor was one of those rare sorts who _looked_ like he should be a monarch. Thomas had been carried across Europe and much of Asia on an invisible current of curiosity and necessity. He’d seen other rulers, and noted how many of them appeared like regular people. Not so, Farrukhsiyar. The emperor was a bit taller and broader than average. He managed to radiate vigor despite being intoxicated much of the time. He was unquestionably handsome, his looks enhanced by his beard. Farrukhsiyar’s facial hair did not cover the scar that slashed across his cheek, but that was not a fault in the least.

“I’m sorry for inconveniencing you. I will leave you.” Thomas said in the face of the emperor’s mirthful silence. He wanted to lie back down on the ground, but he was not about to allow his body total control. Thomas could move. Thomas could leave. Thomas would do just that.

But then he didn’t. Not even after he clambered his way up into a vague standing position.

“One could argue your presence is a compliment. Not every monarch gets to revel with someone from the other side of the globe. And yet my court attracts all sorts from you continent and beyond. That handily demonstrates my reach, don’t you think?” Farrukhsiyar’s Persian was fast and merry. He had never made and concessions to Thomas’s foreignness. Either one kept up with the court language, or they were left behind. Thankfully Thomas had blundered his way into near fluency a few years ago. If he hadn’t, Ismail would never have taken him on as an apprentice.

“Was Ismail quite angry when he had to leave me behind?” 

Farrukhsiyar took a seat. He was behind a low-lying table, strewn with documents and drug paraphernalia. Empty bottles, books, and scrolls. 

“On the contrary. He would be a hypocrite if he became cross with you, and Ismail is no hypocrite.”

“What do you mean, Shahenshah?” 

“Oh, I had to have my men carry him back to his quarters.” 

_But not me._

Judging by how Farrukhsiyar raised on eyebrow, the emperor had deduced Thomas’s thoughts. Farrukhsiyar also seemed aware that Thomas was not speaking them aloud. 

“Sit over here,” Farrukhsiyar said, patting a cushion. “I’ve ordered some food prepared for us.”

Thomas swallowed. The thought of sustenance was equally enticing and nauseating. Mostly the latter. He sat down on a pillow, fully aware of how their hips and arms were touching.. 

“You slept through the jharokha, you know.” Farrukhsiyar laughed. “I didn’t know that was possible.”

Thomas tried to picture it; the daily routine of Farrukhsiyar standing on his balcony and allowing the people to catch a glimpse of their emperor. None of those people would have known there was a half-dead British man sprawled out in the room just beyond the balcony.

Thomas wanted to laugh, too. He would have laughed with anyone else. But his head still hurt, and all of his lessons in etiquette were unequal to this task. 

Farrukhsiyar wordlessly offered Thomas a glass of wine. Thomas politely declined, even though he was fully aware of the ways in which alcohol could dull the scraping feeling of a hangover. 

“How about some opium, then?” 

After some fleeting hesitation, Thomas accepted. As he inhaled, he imagined what things might look like if all his organs didn’t exist. If his body was a hollow glass vessel with smoke twisting and dancing inside of it. The thought was more amusing and attractive than it should have been.

“Ah yes,” Farrukhsiyar said. “That’s a nice smile. Feeling more relaxed already?” 

“Hmm,” Thomas said, before remembering that that wasn’t a word. “Yes, Shahenshah. Although…” He trailed off.

“Although what?”

“I know it comes from flowers. Opium, that is.”

“Poppies, yes.”

“That’s always disappointed me a bit, I always expect it to taste more like… like the air of Shalimar Bagh, say.” A year ago, Thomas had gone to the emperor’s favorite garden. His favorite retreat, in fact. The garden had smelled of flowers, and the breeze had sounded like serenity. “There’s something floral about it, but also something ineffable, too. It’s almost divine.” The words escaped him, like all the wisps of smoke that spill out over his lips. He couldn’t seem to care. Thomas’s headache was a dull roar, and everything he could see was absolutely glorious. The emperor most of all.

“You’re such a poet.”

“Perhaps?” Thomas had, indeed, started composing poetry about his time in Hindustan. By all accounts Farrukhsiyar’s rule was not at all like the austere, ascetic, (one could say gloomy) reign of his father, emperor Khusrau. Thomas believed that to be the case; everyone in this court acted like they were releasing a long held breath. Thomas had never been able to put that metaphor into words, however. “All I know for sure is I don’t have a fraction of the skills of your Sufi poets.”

“Ah well. I suppose map making will have to remain as your calling, then.”

Thomas’s answer was interrupted as servants brought in dishes of food for both of them. Once permitted by Farrukhsiyar, Thomas all but dove into the dish. He swallowed mouthful after mouthful of rice, chicken, and boiled egg. Thanks to the opium it was as if he could taste each individual bit of spice. The warm, savory combination settled his stomach and heart alike. 

When he had emptied the bowl, Thomas looked up to find Farrukhsiyar watching him. His gaze was steady, his eyes were friendly enough. 

“I think the court is excited by the project has commissioned from the both of you.” 

Thomas had never once met the emperor’s mother- Ladli Begum- but she was Ismail’s benefactor (and, by extension, Thomas’s.) A few weeks ago she had commissioned the world’s largest glass globe. She wanted it to contain all of the world’s known countries. All its major cities, lakes, and rivers. It would be bedecked in gold and silver, studded with jewels. After taking stock of the court’s resources, Farrukhsiyar had deemed the venture possible.

Yesterday the emperor had announced it during his daily audience. And then, buoyed by the almost rapturous response he had received for the project, he had invited Ismail and all of his apprentices to his quarters for a celebration. 

“I know that _I_ am excited, Shahenshah.” 

“It’s funny, isn’t it? We also learned the news that your king was executed yesterday. I imagine that that must be the greatest source of commotion in your country. I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s the biggest source of commotion in your entire continent. And yet, here, it’s reduced to mere marginalia in a royal audience.” 

Thomas reached for the opium and sucked on it. Hard. This only led to a spasm of coughing. The emperor absently patted him on the back. Thomas was disappointed when the emperor withdrew his hand. 

When their eyes meet, again, Farrukhsiyar stared Thomas down. It was never possible to forget that this man was an emperor. 

“It’s never been done in my country,” Thomas said, at last. He’d seen King Charles from a distance, once or twice. He tried to picture the monarch’s face, now, but was unable to. “But given the state of the country when I left … Well. Is it possible to be surprised and unsurprised all at once?”

Something imperceptible softens in Farrukhsiyar’s continence. “I have found that to be the case. From what I read, his execution appears to be due to religious differences. However, I have found that information can accrue all sorts of odd fabrications as it travels from neighborhood to neighborhood. I can only imagine what happens as information travels from country to country.” 

“I wish I had more to tell you about it,” Thomas murmured, and was surprised to find this was the truth. “But, yes, I believe that religious differences were key.” Also there were those that thought the king abused his powers. That he was guilty of overreach. This was not something Thomas would ever say to an emperor. He knew from observation that monarchs could simultaneous one each other while also perceiving each other as near-cousins in their possession of awesome power. “There were powerful factions in the isles who, for some time, believed that the king was too sympathetic to Catholics.” 

“Ahhh.” It was impossible to tell whether Farrukhsiyar was satisfied by that answer or by his drag of opium. “Is that why you fled, oh charming map maker? Were you too Catholic for home as well?” 

“If I am I’m doing a horrible job of projecting that quality. Your Spanish priests are certain I’m a raving Presbyterian.”

“Is that why they give you such venomous looks?” When Farrukhsiyar leaned his head on his hand, the tiny mirrors sewn onto his shirt caught the light. They shimmered and shone. Thomas could almost hear them rustling against the fabric. 

“They believe that to be the case, yes. That’s not why they left.” 

The emperor filled a cup of wine for Thomas. This time he accepted. Normally alcohol warmed him, but the coolness of the drink made him shiver. Farrukhsiyar laughed, shrugged off his shawl, and placed it around Thomas shoulders. His hands lingered once more. 

“Thomas, if you are afraid there is no reason.” Farrukhsiyar spoke in careful English. It was halting, but nearly perfect all the same. Thomas blinked. His foggy brain tried to figure out when the emperor had time to study his language. “Those battles in England are of little consequence here.”

Well then. 

“I’m not afraid,” Thomas says, in Rajasthani. His accent is much worse than the emperor, but Farrukhsiyar clapped all the same. Presumably in approval. 

Then Thomas switched back to Persian. “My story is mundane. I’m the youngest son of a nobleman. My father sent me to university, and I was meant to become a lawyer. Instead I decided I wanted to make maps, instead, and could not be moved on that account. My father decided that that was my prerogative but if I did not want the career of a gentleman I would not have the income of one. I was disinherited.” 

“What came next?”

“Next… I went where there was work to be found in cartography. The Flemish. The German kingdoms. I traveled further and further east until I ended up in the Safavid empire, and Ismail was willing to take me on as an apprentice.”

“And you followed him here.” 

Indeed, that was precisely what Thomas had done. The trip had been somewhat long and grueling. In England, they knew that the ruler of Hindustan was named Khusrau. Popularly called “the Blind Mogol.” His court was said to be dull and rather bleak. When Ismail and Thomas had crossed over into Mughal territory, though, they had learned that the emperor had died. He had been succeeded by his son, and the new emperor maintained a spirited, youthful court. 

“Draw our two continents, Thomas.” Farrukhsiyar was smiling, but an order was still an order. He carefully tore up the blank corner of a discarded letter. The resulting blank piece of paper was about the side of a man’s palm. Thomas found himself staring at its ragged edges in intoxicated fascination. He could discern each individual grain of wood pulp. “I suspect you will continue to travel east, but I haven’t lost you to Japan just yet. So draw for me.”

“Perhaps this is a task best suited for a miniaturist. Shahenshah.” Thomas spoke the emperor’s title belatedly, realizing he had not spoken it in some time. He pulled the shawl tighter around himself. 

“And yet you are here and they are not. Draw, map maker.”

Thomas did as he was told. His hand was surprisingly steady as he carved out the edges of continents with careful brush strokes. As he worked he pictured the glass globe that he and Ismail would make. The land was like a body. Rivers were like veins, cities were like a concentration of nerves. The tiny square of paper was not suited to such details but he never forgot them. 

And yet, Thomas had no space left for Ireland when he was finished. It was an amateurish mistake. He hoped Ismail never heard of it. 

He sat back, at first, but then he caught sight of Farrukhsiyar shaking his head. 

“I know the map is incomplete, Thomas.”

The emperor’s hand was right next to the impromptu map. If Thomas had been sober he would never have proceeded to trace the shape of Ireland (and Iceland, for good measure) onto the palm of the Mughal emperor. But this was not a time for sober decisions, in truth. 

Soon after, Farrukhsiyar’s hand closed around Thomas’s wrist. The gesture was strangely tender, even though it left ink marks all over Thomas’s hand. 

Thomas- no longer much concerned with propriety or logic- reached out to trace the scar on Farrukhsiyar’s face. 

“Am I breaking a law by doing this?” Thomas asked. He should be worried. Instead, he was wondering why the scar looked like the shape of an island. 

“Oh, several.” Farrukhsiyar’s hands moved to the back of Thomas’s head. “I hereby issue a proclamation. I pardon you.” 

The emperor tasted of smoke and fragrant flowers. The scent of ink filled the room as Thomas reached for Farrukhsiyar. 

“You may need to pardon me again and again,” Thomas murmured, as they sprawled out on the floor’s cushions. 

“You’re fortunate Thomas,” Farrukhsiyar said. “I’m full of clemency today.”

The emperor had a light touch. Once he had divested Thomas of his clothing, his finger were teasing, knowing, but always so gentle. He left pale streaks of ink all over Thomas’s shoulders and collarbone. Sometimes Thomas watched, naming each country as it disappeared from Farrukhsiyar’s hand. At other times, Thomas tilted his head back into the pillows and melted into the sensation of lips on his throat, and a knee pressed against his cock. 

“I must leave soon, you know,” Farrukhsiyar murmured against Thomas’s lips. Then his tongue erased any answer Thomas might have given. 

“Oh?” Thomas said, after they separated. Not even he could say if that sound was a question or a gasp. 

Farrukhsiyar sat back, and inhaled a bit of opium. Thomas panted and tried to remember if he had ever seen alcohol or drugs dull the emperor’s gaze. He couldn’t think of a time when that had happened.

Certainly not now. 

The emperor settled back onto the cushions, slowly kissing his way down Thomas’s body. “Yes. You like to map the world, I like to take the time to properly map a new lover’s body.” His teeth grazed over the side of Thomas’s abdomen. Thomas started. “But I also carry this country on my shoulders, Thomas. I have to be at a meeting soon. The first of many.”

“Not even an emperor can defeat time,” Thomas said, dizzy and elated. Despite his words, he felt as though he had slipped free of the world. 

“Ah, well said, well said.” The emperor’s touch left gray smudges on Thomas’s thighs. They left the shape of his finger prints on sensitive skin. “I will do what I can for now, then.”

Farrukhsiyar’s lips found their way to Thomas’s cock, then. They slid down with the same deliberate slowness the emperor had paid to Thomas’s body. 

Thomas’s head banged against the floor, and he bit into his own hand. He had always been unquiet at sex, and the emperor’s chambers had always had an echoing quality to them. However the emperor broke away from Thomas, and gave him a smirk. 

“I would like to hear you. And I would like for you to look at me,” Farrukhsiyar said, before resuming his task. It was an order disguised as a statement of preference, and Thomas wanted nothing better than to obey. 

Staring back at the emperor, the twisting sensation of pleasure in his gut only deepened. This act was so often described as one of subservience or shame. It was quite clear the emperor did not think in that way. 

_Look how I can undo you, completely, with just the touch of my lips and tongue._ Thomas could hear how Farrukhsiyar would say that if he was able to speak. Everything was at his command, Thomas most of all.

Thomas was just on the edge of that wonderful, soaring precipice when the emperor pulled away. “This has been delightful but I’m afraid I must attend my first meeting now.” 

“I…” Thomas clutched onto the emperor’s forgotten shawl. “But…” He sucked in a breath. “Alright.” 

The emperor smiled and gave Thomas a last, lingering kiss. “I’m sure I will get many questions about why there is so much ink on my hand, but I will let the courtiers devise their own theories.”

Thomas, speechless, sat up and gathered his clothing. Halfway through dressing, he nodded at the emperor. 

“Oh, Thomas, it’s a compliment that you look so aggrieved. Sometimes I worry that I am out of practice at that particular skill.” 

“You were wonderful.” This was not an attempt at flattery.

A few servants came in, clearly to help the emperor dress for the day. If they thought Thomas’s presence was unusual they gave no indication. 

Just as Thomas was prepared to make a respectful exit, the Farrukhsiyar leaned in to whisper in his ear. “Come to me tonight. I will have all the time required to map you _properly._ ” 

“Of course, Shahenshah.”


End file.
